


Aftermath

by GlitteringKitten



Series: Copper Kiss [2]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: British Comedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitteringKitten/pseuds/GlitteringKitten
Summary: At first, Rick thought he had dreamt what had happened. Except everything in his room sort of... indicated otherwise. And suddenly, living with Vyvyan was not as straight-forwards as casual violence and sarcastic remarks.A long, long awaited sequel to "Bonds"; I just hope it doesn't ruin the original.





	1. You're so gross you make me sick, I'll lose your taste with my spit

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. Let me first say, thank you for reading. I'll say that first, because I know how long it has been since Bonds was published. I first posted Bonds on Livejournal on the 22nd of June 2009. I tried, believe me, I tried so hard to get this completed for June 22nd 2018, in a nice mirroring effect; but it took a bit more time - because it's longer.
> 
> With that in mind, it has been 9 years. My writing may have improved (hopefully) but it also might have changed. I can only hope that if you read Bonds, this is a worthy follow up. And if not, I'm sorry for ruining what was a good thing.

It had been three weeks since ‘the incident’, as Rick liked to call it, had taken place. At the time, he’d awoken on his floor, groggy and confused; certain he’d had the most awful nightmare in the history of nightmares. Vyvyan had kissed him. Not just once – oh no, that would’ve been bad enough - but twice. Quite passionately. And he’d made some ridiculously over enthusiastic speech about how he didn’t hate Rick at all, and that it was time for him to stop moping around in his room. It had to be a nightmare, because there was no way on earth he’d let Vyvyan kiss him. Especially not after the nasty things he’d said about Rick’s parents.

Except.

Well.

Evidence suggested that perhaps it hadn’t been a nightmare at all. His blue sociology book was still sitting on his bed, dirty boot prints peeking out from beneath it, and there was quite a large, Vyvyan shaped hole in his bedroom door. Not that that necessarily implied anything, considering the state of the house, but Rick was pretty certain he’d have remembered if Vyvyan had destroyed his door in any other way. It wasn’t like Vyvyan to keep his destructive habits private, after all.

It was a quandary he couldn’t solve alone. And at first, he managed to convince himself it had been nothing more than a nightmare brought on by too much studying. So he took his dream-Vyvyan’s advice and started to spend more time with the guys downstairs. It was, to say the least, no different to any other time he’d spent with them. Violent parlour games, strange intruders, lentil soup made from last night’s lentil casserole. Effectively, nothing had changed. But something had, and Rick was becoming increasingly aware that something wasn’t right. It took him a few days (weeks, realistically) to notice, but it was pretty obvious to the others that Vyvyan was no longer being as verbally abusive to Rick as they had all come to expect. In fact; he’d started to defend him a bit more here and there, turning all rows about things Rick had (or hadn’t) done into blatant attacks on Neil.

A fantastic example of this had taken place just that morning. It had been breakfast time, or as near to breakfast time as the students of the house liked to get, and Rick had made the faux pas of making toast. There were many reasons this was a bad idea, not least that Vyvyan’s improved toasting device had yet to be safeguarded; but the one that was causing the most problem was the fact he’d used the only slice of bread available in the house – which happened to belong to Neil.

“Rick, man, like, I know you think that eating the last piece of bread was your, like, right, and everything but actually, like, that was my dinner for the next week before my starvation period, and I think, right, it was pretty uncool of you to just, you know, eat it, without even asking me.” Neil gestured to the plate of crumbs on the table that sat beside the sociology student’s hand.

“Neil,” Vyvyan interrupted, cutting Rick off before he even had a chance to reply, “did you put your name on the bread in question?” Neil stared at him momentarily, shaking his head, then nodding.

“Well, yeah. On the bag it was in. It said ‘property of Neil, please don’t eat me unless, you know, you’re a starving peasant.’ And, right, I know we’re all pretty hard up at the moment, but I don’t really think you classify as a starving peasant Rick.” He held the bag in question up, showing Vyvyan exactly where the illegible scrawl of his request lay. Vyvyan squinted at it momentarily, then sat back in his chair, a knowing look on his face.

“Aha, well then, there’s the problem. The bag might say it was yours, but the bread didn’t.” Neil frowned.

“But, like, it was in the bag.”

“Are you trying to say that if I put my hand in that bag, it makes it yours?” Vyvyan asked, waving a sharp looking fork at him. “No. No it does not. So how can you claim that that unlabelled piece of bread was yours, just because it’s in the bag?” He reached over and took the bag, eyeing the size of Neil’s head, and the shape the bag was in. A slightly wicked grin crossed his lips, and Neil took a step back waving his arms around defensively.

“But Vyv, that was my bread…”

“Look, guys, I’m not one to interrupt unless the stakes are high, but this conversation is beginning to make me lose the will to live; which means the stakes are pretty damned high.” Mike folded his paper up, glaring at the two arguing house mates. “Neil, I’m sorry but regardless of whether the bread was yours or not, it’s gone now, and there’s nothing we can do about it. If you’re that upset by the prospect of missing bread – and believe me, I hear you on that one, not a great fan of missing bread myself, causes a lot of broken kneecaps - then the only thing I can suggest is you get yourself down the local shop and buy some more. I’m not sure what you’re going to get it with, considering you’ve yet to pay your share of the food-bill, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out by the time you get there.” He took to the stairs, paper under his arm and an empty cup of tea in his hand. The three lads watched him from the table, all quite confused by his sudden disappearance, before returning to the point at hand.

“Look, Rick – if you just say you’re sorry-”

“Look, hippy,” Rick started to reply, but Vyvyan interrupted him with a well aimed saucepan to the head. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Rick’s head it collided with, but Neil’s. Rick stared at him for a while, trying to work out what had happened.

“Did you, uh, miss, Vyvyan?”

“When have you ever known me to miss, Rick?” He retorted, the saucepan shifting in the air dangerously. Rick shuffled in his chair, recognizing the familiar feeling of unease that had recently started to infiltrate their daily interactions. He pursed his lips and made the decision not to entertain such ridiculous feelings; crossing his arms and snorting angrily.

“Oh I suppose this is all part of some new scheme to get me to pay you some kind of protection money, is it? Well, I didn’t ask for it so you can just about blummin’ well go without.” There was a slight pause, and then, as if to prove a point, Vyvyan hit Rick around the side of the head with the saucepan. The pain gave Rick a surprising hit of relief, and as he fell to the floor and lost consciousness, he was certain that all the oddness that had been going on was over.

That had been three hours ago. Rick had, with all the assumption one can muster after a head-injury, believed everything was back to normal. Neil had awoken and disappeared into the garden, claiming he wasn’t up for any more hassle and had a grave to dig. It was the third one this week, and Rick was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t actually just gardening. The surprise element of carrots in the lentil stew the night before backed this idea up. Part of the surprise, Neil explained, was that there was enough for all of them – with spare. Vyvyan took this as a cue to steal the carrots for SPG and an entire fight had broken out over whether it was sanitary to cook something that had been used in SPG’s pants. (For those who care, the answer was found to be no, and Neil regretted ever trying to prove otherwise all night.)

Mike still hadn’t returned with his empty cup of tea, which left both Rick and Vyvyan in the living room. Alone. Again. Which would be perfectly fine… if Rick had woken up where he’d fallen. But he wasn’t. He was most definitely on the sofa. With a very concerned looking punk staring over him. Still holding a saucepan.

“You’ve been out about three hours. That’s almost a new record!” Vyvyan joked, but the words didn’t have a strong kick behind them. In fact, they seemed a little worried.

“Well, Vyvyan, what do you expect when you use something Neil cooks in? It’s probably twice as heavy as a normal pan because of the amount of burnt lentils stuck inside.” Rick replied, moving to sit up, only to find the saucepan pushing him back down. “What?”

“As the only person in here with any medical practitioning, I feel it’s only right to tell you to stay lying down and not to move after any head injury that lands you unconscious.” The serious note in Vyvyan’s voice made Rick snort. Until he realized Vyvyan actually meant it.

“‘Medical practitioning?’ Taking apart your pet hamsters to see what kind of diseases they die of is not medical practising Vyvyan, it’s dissection and it’s gross. The closest practice of medicine you’ve had is downing all of the Calpol, vicks, and headache tablets after a night out with your crummy mates hoping to prevent a hangover. And we all know how well that turned out, don’t we?” Rick looked pointedly at the sticky mess that had started to grow plants in the corner of the room. “I don’t think that can really be classed as administering medical care in a healthy way!”

“I dunno,” Vyvyan replied, considering the plant-filled concoction, “that plant seems to be doing okay, definitely more alive than it was before I was sick on it.”

“Oh great, well if that's your level of medical expertise – to vomit on something until it gets better – then I'm certain I want none of it aimed at my possible concussion thank you very much!” Rick pushed the saucepan aside and sat up, the movement causing the whole room to shake in his vision. Vyvyan’s gaze returned to him immediately, and this time used his hand to shove the other boy back down onto the sofa.

“Will you just lie down and stop trying to get up? It's not like you have anywhere important to be, I can't imagine anyone would be concerned if you didn't turn up to an event. They'd probably be grateful. You'd be doing them a favour.” He dropped the saucepan on the floor, reaching over the sofa to grab a chair and pull it over the top, his body holding Rick down as he did so. The close contact made the uncomfortable feelings Rick had from before rush to the surface, dizziness and concussion mixing with them to make him whimper in distress. Vyvyan dropped the chair noisily beside the sofa and sat down, legs either side, leaning over the back, Rick’s whimper almost unnoticed. Almost.

“Look, bogey bum, if you’re making those kind of noises now, then I don't want to know what kind of sounds to expect when-” suddenly Vyvyan cut himself off, a strange look coming across his face. “Just lie still and shut up until I think you're not concussed any more.”

“Well excuse me for being in agony but some idiot whacked me with a saucepan not three hours ago, and it's just very hard to work out whether you're trying to make it worse or better, considering lately you've been very un-Vyvyan like.” Rick shuffled against the sofa, discomfort and honesty on his face. It occurred to him that admitting it would just draw attention to the fact he'd noticed the change, but his head ached, and it wasn't just the concussion making it do so any more. “I don't know what you're up to but I'm sick of waiting to get to the punchline; just get it over with.”

“What punchline?” The obvious confusion in Vyvyan’s voice made Rick wince, holding his head with one hand and closing his eyes as he tried to think of a way to bring up what he thought might have happened between them.

“All this niceness. Blaming Neil for everything. Stopping him from harassing me. Whacking him with a saucepan instead of me. “

“In addition to you,” Vyvyan quickly corrected, but the fact that he was looking everywhere except at Rick was a pretty clear clue that he wasn't trying to deny the matter.

“Look, Vyvyan, whatever it is you’re planning, you can blummin’ well get on with it already, OK? My head hurts, you’re being weird, and this sofa is sticking to my backside like Thatcher to milk.” A wave of nausea pulsed through his stomach, making him groan again. Immediately, Vyvyan’s eyes snapped back to where he was lying, concern evident on his face. Rick was surprised when he felt a hand resting on his forehead, the roughened feel of the skin making him frown and open his eyes. “Now what?”

“I’m checking to make sure you’re not getting a fever from trying to work out whatever ridiculous imaginary scheme you think I’ve got going on.” Vyvyan snapped in response, pulling back his hand. “Maybe you’re paranoid. That’d be brilliant, I could spend the year studying you and write a paper on it.”

“It’s not paranoia if someone _is_ out to get you.” Rick muttered, closing his eyes and letting himself back down to lie on the sofa properly. “And that’s always been you, so it’s not like you’d know the difference if I wasn’t paranoid.” He paused, taking a moment to try to steady his head, before peering one eye open and saying. “Why _are_ you checking to make sure I’m okay? You never have before.”

“I told you, I’m the only one with medical knowledge in the house. I can’t have you die on our living room floor. It might be a great story for parties but it’ll ruin my medical reputation before I’ve even got one.” Rick watched Vyvyan carefully as he spoke, eyes focused entirely on the kitchen behind them; refusing to look at the damaged boy even once.

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re worried about me.” The slight intake of breath and scraping of chair legs interrupted his sentence, but he continued regardless. “It’s nice to have someone care for a change.”

“Shut up, I don’t care about you. I told you. My medical reputation is at stake here.” Vyvyan replied, but the words didn’t quite ring true, not to Rick’s ears. Something in the tone wasn’t quite right, and the flush on his cheeks definitely indicated otherwise. When Rick opened his mouth to point it out Vyvyan glared at him, a non-verbal warning to drop the subject. Certain that the warning would be followed by a very painful promise, Rick closed his eyes and said nothing else.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for what felt like all of ten minutes before Rick felt Vyvyan’s boots across his legs. Opening one eye, he glanced down at them. Vyvyan had clearly settled down on the chair for the long haul, turning it around and leaning back as he read a comic. A very familiar comic.

“Is that my comic?” Rick asked, opening both eyes and beginning to sit back up. “Vyvyan, have you been going through my things again?”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” He shut the comic and dropped it down on the floor, leaning forward to eye Rick up carefully. “Good. You look normal. Well. Normal for a girly poof anyway. I can get on with the rest of the day safe in the knowledge my reputation won’t be damaged.” He swung his legs down from the sofa, deliberately stepping on the comic as he headed towards the stairs. He paused at the bottom, glancing back to where Rick was still sitting. “Neil left your dinner on the table. SPG wanted to use it for a bath but I told him you’d probably suffered enough today.” With that he disappeared loudly up to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Rick blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what Vyvyan has just said. Hadn’t it only been a few minutes he’d been lying there? Yes, he’d had three hours passed out, but that wouldn’t have made it anywhere near dinner time. He looked over to the table where a bowl sat ominously on the table, a spoon resting beside it. Surprisingly, Mike and Neil were also sitting at the table, appearing to play cards. Slowly, Rick got up and walked over to them, mind still hazy.

“Go fish,” Mike’s voice was quiet, but when his eyes raised to Rick’s appearance, it continued at a normal level. “Woke up then, did you? Good job too, your dinner was beginning to look like it might grow legs and walk off.” He nodded to the bowl of what appeared to be soup. Rick grimaced at the sight.

“What is that?”

“Vegetable stew, full of good vitamins and brain power. Vyv said you’d need something-“Neil stopped suddenly, as if remembering something important, “Oh I mean, uh, vegetables have healing powers and like, give you the ability to see in the dark. So. Uh. Yeah. I thought you might need something with a bit more… substance.” He paused, glancing at Mike for confirmation. Mike looked at his cards, giving off the impression he was ignoring the blatant request for help. After a moment he took a card from the pile in the centre, and laid his hand down.

“Royal flush. I win.” He nodded to the soup. “Just eat the damned soup, Rick, before Vyvyan comes back and tries to make you wear it.” Neil looked at the cards on the table, a look of confusion on his face.

“That’s not in Go Fish, Mike.”

“Did I say we were playing Go Fish when we started Neil? Pay up.”

“Well no but-“Neil looked at the cards in his hands, then sighed heavily. “This is why I don’t gamble. I never understand and I always seem to lose.”

“A wise man never gambles with anything but his time, Neil. Now, I think that’s six quid you owe me. Add that to the three you borrowed for the dinner, and the interest since then, and that’s…” he pulled a calculator out of his pocket, tallying it up. “Seventeen pounds and thirty two pence. Cough up.”

“What the ruddy hell is going on here?” Rick burst out, finally fed up of watching the exchange. “Five minutes ago Vyvyan put me on the sofa, and now you’re discussing dinner?” Both Neil and Mike turned to look at him with astonishment.

“Five minutes Rick? Would you swear on that?” Mike asked, looking intrigued, “Swear that only five minutes has passed since then?”

“Rick, you’ve been asleep for two hours,” Neil interrupted, “Vyvyan made us watch you every time he left your side. Something about a medical emergency requiring constant observation, in case you became a zombie.” He paused, tilting his head, “are you a zombie, Rick?”

“I should bloody well hope not. Who ever heard of turning into a zombie after being hit with a frying pan?” He scoffed, then caught up to the rest of what Neil had said. “Wait, two hours?”

“Yeah.” Neil pushed the soup bowl towards him. “You really should eat something, Rick, it’s not good for your body to wake up after an injury and not be given nourishment.”

“Oh shut up hippy.” Rick rolled his eyes, sitting down and picking up his spoon. The bowl of soup stared at him menacingly, and he frowned. “Are there eyeballs in this soup Neil? You know I’m a vegetarian.”

“No, Vyvyan drew angry eyes on all the mushrooms. He said there was no point eating soup if it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” Neil paused, frowning at the staring mushrooms, “I’m not entirely sure you should eat mushrooms which have permanent marker on them though, so maybe eat around them.”

“You’re such a worry wart, Neil, I’m sure a bit of ink won’t kill me.” Rick mocked in reply, taking a spoonful of soup and eating it, barely believing the words himself. The soup, despite having cooled considerably, was quite tasty, which was a surprise. “When did you learn to cook something that involved no lentils, Neil?”

“Oh it’s not my recipe, Vyv-” Neil stopped suddenly, falling off the chair to one side. Vyvyan stood behind him, a bag of lentils in his hand.

“Who knew such a simple bag of lentils could cause such a knock down?” He mused, taking over the chair that Neil had previously been sitting on. “I mean, I might’ve added a few weights to make it heavier, but I’m sure that had absolutely no effect on the outcome whatsoever.” Dropping the bag on the table with a clunk, he picked up Neil’s cards and reached for Mike’s, shuffling them absent-mindedly. Momentarily, his eyes flicked across to where Rick was sitting, as if checking he was OK.

“Game of snap Mike?”

“Last time I played snap with you Vyv, I nearly lost an arm.” He shook his head, “I’m not going through that again. Anyway,” he glanced at his watch, nodding, “it’s just about time for my evening lectures, if you know what I mean.” Picking up his jacket, he stepped over Neil and headed out the front door.

“Fair enough. How about you, spotty knickers, fancy a game of snap?” He flicked the cards in Rick’s face, watching as he flinched backwards. A brief – almost unnoticeable – smile crossed Vyvyan’s face at the reaction.

“No thanks, Vyvyan, I think I’ve had quite enough humiliation from you today. I don’t want to end up missing a limb, or whatever other ridiculous forfeit you’ve spent all afternoon thinking up whilst watching me sleep.” Finishing the last slurp of his soup, Rick pointedly picked his now empty bowl up and smashed it into Vyvyan’s face. “And don’t think I don’t know why that was,” he hissed, leaning close enough so Neil couldn’t hear him, had he woken up. “However much you might try to deny it.”

His point made, Rick stepped over Neil and flounced off upstairs, expecting to hear the thundering footsteps of Vyvyan behind him, threatening him in retaliation. It was only when he closed the door of his bedroom behind him that he realized that Vyvyan hadn’t followed him at all. Nor had he yelled anything revolting up the stairs after him. In fact, he’d given him no reply at all. Which, Rick thought, was probably for the best, because he didn’t _really_ know why Vyvyan had spent all afternoon watching him sleep. The weird queasy feeling from earlier returned at the thought of Vyvyan just watching him sleep, and he rather hoped it was still part of his concussion.

—————

A few days later though, the feeling still hadn’t gone. Rick knew, by this point, it was not related to his concussion, as after a good night’s rest he had been otherwise back to normal.

Except when Vyvyan was around.

In fact whenever Vyvyan was around, he’d started feeling sick all over, and on at least one occasion, been sick in the bathroom. He’d told the others it was from too much alcohol the night before, which had bought him a little incredulous respect, until Vyvyan pointed out that it couldn’t have been from any alcohol because he’d used the last of it to feed Seymour, the now aggressively growing houseplant in the corner. Vyvyan had started to take quite an interest in the plant since Rick’s concussion, and was taking notes on what encouraged it’s growth best. (So far, he’d found the answer to be cheap vodka. He’d nearly killed it by giving it tea, and despite his hopes, blood did nothing for it. Grounding up bones was his next plan, but he had yet to acquire any from college to try it out. He’d started wondering how easy it would be to steal a finger off Neil without his noticing. Neil was not entirely unaware of this plan and had taken to locking his door at night just in case.)

The only problem with the entire situation was that normally, whenever anyone in the house was unwell, they’d ask Vyvyan his opinion on what to do about it as he was training to be a doctor. His responses always depended entirely on how he was feeling that day of course, but they knew the risks and hoped they’d get the more genuine answer than the answer that would land them in hospital. (Mike was reluctant to try this approach again since the lentil incident, but he hadn’t been in a position to need it since.) Rick was pretty certain that telling Vyvyan that being around him was making him sick would end up with a hospital trip, whether it be from a cure or from being on the receiving end of Vyvyan’s offence.

So he thought he’d try asking Neil first.

Getting the hippy alone was surprisingly easy. Getting him to talk about the subject in question without giving anything away was marginally more complicated.

“It’s really nice of you to help me, Rick, nobody ever offers to help me. I’m sure it’s just because people don’t really appreciate the amount of effort that goes into making a star chart, but I’m really glad that you want to learn.” He held out a paintbrush and a pot of paint, shifting back against the wall to let Rick sit beside him.

“Yes, well,” Rick carefully placed himself down on the floor, eyeing the chart lying before them with unease, “what are friends for, if not to be there when you ask for help?” Neil stopped his painting for a moment, awe on his face.

“Are we friends then, Rick?”

“Ah, well… actually I wanted your advice,” carefully sidestepping the question, Rick reached down with his brush, as if to make a mark.

“I’ve never really had any friends before…” Neil mused, carefully adjusting where Rick’s brush was about to touch down on the fabric, “I mean aside from Neal but after that cryogenics situation he hasn’t really been interested in coming around again.”

“Yes yes, alright, hippy, I know you don’t have any friends, you don’t need to-” Rick’s exasperated tone dissolved as Neil looked at him carefully, as if daring him to finish his sentence, “- worry, about that now, though, do you, now that we’re friends?”

“I guess not, no.” Neil dipped his brush in paint, carefully drawing on the fabric before him. Rick watched the white lines become a beautiful motif of stars, bright against the blue of the fabric. The joss stick behind them was just beginning to tickle his nose when Neil spoke up again. “What did you need my advice on?”

“Ah, well… I’ve been feeling, uh,” he hesitated. He’d never really expected the conversation to get as far as this, certain that Neil would’ve thrown him out by now, for one reason or another.

“Feeling?”

“Yes. Feeling.” He snapped in reply, then remembered he wanted Neil’s help and cautiously continued, “I keep feeling really weird lately, and it’s – it’s not like being unwell, where if I just get better it’ll go away. It’s just there one moment and gone the next, and I can’t seem to make it stop.”

“Grief, man, it does funny things to the body.” Neil looked at him sympathetically, nodding slowly. “Give yourself time, Rick. It’ll get easier.”

“Uh, no, no, no, it’s… it’s not grief. It… I mean, yes, grief is awful and sometimes – but that’s. Not this. This is a sort of uncomfortable throwing up type sickness that comes and goes.” Rick dropped his paintbrush, leaning back against the wall and sighing heavily. He turned to glance over to where Neil was studying the picture he was mapping out, and frowned, the silence bringing him to the realization that Neil was, as he’d always suspected, absolutely useless. Decisively, he stood up, knocking over the paint pot he’d been given and ignoring Neil’s protests. “You know Neil, it’s no wonder you have no friends when you give out advice like that. Grief. God, you really are an absolute waste of space, aren’t you?”

“Hey Rick, man, that’s totally uncool, I thought I was your friend,”

“Like I’d ever be friends with a drippy hippy like you.” Rolling his eyes, Rick stormed out of the room, deliberately knocking over another paint pot on the way.

—————

He left it a couple of days before attempting to engage Mike in any kind of conversation about it, mostly because getting Mike to talk about anything without money being involved required great strategy. After a few misunderstandings about what kind of advice Rick might be after (one of which he was apparently never allowed to discuss again, despite not really understanding the conversation anyway) - they managed to get on the same page. Of course, that didn’t really help the situation, given that Mike’s experience of “feeling uncomfortable around someone” generally led to “a quick trip to the men’s with the old Vaseline for a one handed salute”. Rick felt that he’d learnt more about Mike’s inappropriate behaviour on campus than he ever needed to in that conversation… and still felt no better off about what to do about Vyvyan.

Which left him with just one option. After a lot of internal debating (and some external debating that had led to Neil banging on the wall at 3am demanding that he take his internal crisis downstairs where nobody could hear him) Rick decided that he _had_ to talk to Vyvyan about it, or constantly live in fear that one day he’d just vomit over the punk whilst talking to him. Again.

Naturally, the one evening that Rick got his courage up to go and see Vyvyan in his room, he was out. It was just bloody typical of him, Rick thought, to go out when he was needed. How incredibly inconsiderate. He hadn’t even locked his bedroom door, he’d just left it wide open, which he normally only did if he was about the house. It was only fair therefore that Rick took the moment to have a good snoop around the room while he gone; most of the time when he’d been in Vyvyan’s room they’d been fighting, which barely gave him a chance to really see the room itself.

What Rick quickly learnt from his experience in Vyvyan’s room was that he should’ve known better. Every drawer was booby trapped, every cupboard broken. The dangerous aroma that Rick had always attributed to bizarre experiments actually came from a pile of clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed since 1973. Most of Vyvyan’s room was taken up with tools for taking bodies apart and books related to the matter. His bed was only just visible under a stack of paperwork that, surprisingly, showed neat handwriting and good grades. (Rick assumed it was stolen, it seemed highly unlikely Vyvyan would actually bother to do any work.)

He was still attempting to jimmy open a drawer under the bed (and failing miserably, because Rick didn’t know how to jimmy open an unlocked drawer, let alone one with Vyvyan’s exquisite locking system in place) when Vyvyan returned home. Upon hearing the sound of his heavy Doc Martins coming up the stairs, Rick froze. If Vyvyan found him in his room attempting to break into his stuff, there would undoubtedly be a price to pay. But if he left, he didn’t know how long it would take for him to get the courage up to speak to Vyvyan about his uneasy feeling again. He’d already had a sip of cider earlier for Dutch courage; there was no point wasting it.

“What are you doing in here?” Vyvyan asked, stumbling into the door frame of the room. “This is my room. Piss off.”

“Are you drunk?” Rick replied, indignation on his face, “Well, that’s just bloody great, isn’t it? I come in here hoping to have a conversation with you about - ” he stumbled over himself, unable to say the words, “and - and you’re just pissed off your face. Well that’s just fan-bloody-static.”

“Shut up prissy-pants, I don’t have to answer to you.” Vyvyan moved over towards the bed where Rick was standing, and instantly Rick took a step back, knocking into the frame and falling onto the paperwork behind him. “Oi, I worked hard on that, get off!” Vyvyan’s hands grabbed at Rick’s, tugging him angrily from the bed, both of them losing their sense of balance and knocking into a wall, before falling to the floor.

“Oh honestly, Vyvyan, this is the last time I come to you for help.” Rick complained, pushing him aside and trying to get up. Vyvyan smacked him up the side of the head, then shoved him hard, forcing him back down. He gripped the collar of Rick’s blazer and pulled his face in close.

“What d’you want then?” Vyvyan growled. Rick swallowed, the uneasy feeling returning full force with Vyvyan just there, just so close to him, breathing practically into his mouth. His tried to form words, but no noise came out, and Vyvyan rolled his eyes, shoving him away. “God you just become more like a girl every day.” Rick said nothing, still trembling from the slow realization that was beginning to crawl over his skin. Vyvyan got up, pushing his paperwork on the floor and climbing onto the bed.

“Piss off, Rick. I can’t deal with this now.” Within seconds, he was snoring loudly and Rick physically felt his lungs exhale in relief. He scrambled across the floor, nearly getting his knee smashed in by a dodgy floorboard trap as he left, desperate to get back to the safety of his own room. The minute he was in his own room he felt the uneasy feeling double over in his stomach, and vomited in his dustbin.

—————

The following morning, Rick awoke to find the dustbin of vomit upturned in his bed, with a note pinned to it saying “I haven’t forgotten” in Vyvyan’s handwriting. Carefully, Rick crawled out from under the sick, the scent turning his stomach over again. He was about to go and demand that Vyvyan clean his sheets when he remembered why he’d been sick in the first place. It hadn’t been the result of too much alcohol, and it hadn’t been from the close proximity of Vyvyan. It had been the slow realization that being that close to Vyvyan was making him nauseous because he _fancied_ him. Which was a revolting thought in itself; but given the possibility that the dream-Vyvyan-who-snogged-him might not have been a dream, it meant there was a chance Vyvyan fancied him back. The nausea that came from being near Vyvyan had been coming from nerves at the possibility that maybe Vyvyan might want to do it again. Because Rick might want him to.

The entire thought process made Rick want to vomit. Again.

Once he’d disposed of the grotesque sheets and replaced them (by exchanging them with Neil’s unusually clean, barely-slept in cotton ones that had recently been washed), Rick didn’t know what to do next. Usually he’d have headed downstairs, argued with Vyvyan about how cornflakes were a perfectly acceptable breakfast without adding broken crockery to the mix, spent a couple of hours fighting him over who had control of the television and finally either given in and sulked, or played some monotonous game of Cluedo (wherein every time Vyvyan made a suggestion that involved a weapon, there would be an interluding conversation about why a pipe bomb wouldn’t work in a billiard room, or why killing someone with a pair of breasts wasn’t physically possible) . This would’ve continued until another argument broke out, and they ended up back in his room with Vyvyan trying to break his arm.

But that was _before._ Not only had things with Vyvyan been different since the possible-dream-kiss (and why hadn’t he thought about why he’d dreamt that anyway, if he thought it was a dream?), but now Rick was _self_ - _aware_. The concern Vyvyan had shown when he’d been knocked out, the turning on Neil instead of himself – it was all a symptom of something much bigger, which made a lot more sense if it hadn’t been a dream. And the memory of Vyvyan’s lips pressing into his own had been so vibrant the night before when Vyvyan was pulling him close that he’d struggled not to just push forwards and try to recapture it.

“Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger bugger.” Rick yelled, kicking his chair. The evidence seemed impossible to ignore. But what was he meant to do with the knowledge? It wasn’t like he could just waltz into the kitchen, snog Vyvyan and be done with it. Firstly, he was pretty sure that even if Vyvyan _did_ possibly reciprocate the desire to be snogged, he’d never accept it being on Rick’s terms. Even looking at him the wrong way generally ended up with Rick being injured; trying to make a move on him would be suicidal. And secondly, if he did somehow manage to survive the ordeal, did he really want Mike and Neil watching? Was it really a good idea to try and see how Vyvyan felt (in more ways than one) by thrusting him into the situation in the communal living space? No. Definitely not. Especially if he’d misjudged it all and it was a long running joke that might end up with them all laughing at him. It would be just like Vyvyan to have set him up for that. He’d never hear the end of it. No. That was just not a risk worth taking.

“Rick, man, could you maybe keep it down, I’m like, trying to get in line with the cosmic energy ready for the next eclipse, and I feel like your yelling is really putting me off the alignment I’m after.” Neil’s voice through his bedroom door broke his train of thought briefly, followed by the hippy’s long hair peering through a crack that no doubt Vyvyan had made. He glanced around the messy room, then focused on where Rick was abusing his chair. “Are you … having another crisis? Do you want some herbal tea?”

“No I bloody don’t, Neil.” Quickly recovering into a less aggressive stance, Rick glared at him. “Can’t a man rearrange his bedroom without it requiring an intervention these days? Next you’ll be calling the pigs and demanding they lock me up for offences to inanimate objects. Wood doesn’t have feelings, you square, it’s just dead trees.”

“Rick don’t say that, it’s not true, you know wood hears everything you say and feeds it back to the earth. You’ll bring bad karma if you keep treating it like that.” Neil gave him a slightly scared look and shook his head, “This house is just full of bad vibes today, first Vyvyan and now you. It’s not good, man, it’s not good.” He disappeared out of sight before Rick could ask him what he meant, and when he opened the door to follow him out, Neil had already locked his door with a heavy sounding click.

Across the hallway, Vyvyan’s bedroom door was equally as closed. Which, Rick decided, adding it to what Neil had said, meant he was probably out and it would be safe to go downstairs. While he hadn’t quite worked out how to deal with his deep internal turmoil (a great name for his next poem, he thought) he was too hungry to put off going downstairs any longer. The risk of seeing Vyvyan was minimal if he was out, so he could put his worrying on hold for at least ten minutes.

Of course, the minute he stepped into the kitchen, it was clear the universe was not on his side with this plan, because Vyvyan was sitting on the table taking apart some electrical contraption with a very burnt looking knife. Briefly Rick wondered if there really was anything in Neil’s bad karma idea, and then he quickly dismissed the thought, because the idea of Neil being right about anything was preposterous.

Vyvyan didn’t seem to have noticed him appear down the stairs, feet on the back of a chair, arse perched on the very edge of the table. Rick swallowed uneasily, taking in the sight of his dirty boots on the chair, the casual pose of nonchalance, and felt the crazy stirrings in his stomach begin to rise. God it wasn’t even like Vyvyan was that good looking, he cursed, why couldn’t he get a crush on someone better looking, like Felicity Kendall, or that bloke from the Prince Charming video he’d seen when they studied gender boundaries in his sociology class? Or even bloody David Bowie, wasn’t that who the gays loved? Not that he was gay. Just… into Vyvyan. Maybe. When he wasn’t being a complete nightmare. Which was all the time, pretty much. God, feelings were hard to understand.

“I’m hoping that I can get this to create an electric charge so strong that it zaps Neil’s hair off every time he turns it on.” Vyvyan stated, not looking up at him, still fiddling. “So far all I’ve managed to do is electrocute four rats, and blind SPG.” He held the electrical item out so Rick could see that it was, formerly, a timer for cooking.

“Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Now we’ll end up having burnt lentil casserole for the rest of our lives!” He stormed over to where Vyvyan was, reaching for the electrical contraption without thinking. Vyvyan turned the knife from the electrical innards to Rick’s hand, stopping him in his tracks with light pressure from the tip and meeting his eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, unless you want to join SPG?” He nodded to where the presently-blinded hamster was scrambling around the floor, cursing Vyvyan’s name and promising revenge. Rick hesitated, retrieving his hand. He turned to scowl at the other boy, only to suddenly be hit with a wave of nausea at the sight. And the scent. Which was oddly un-Vyvyan like. Sort of… spicy. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except it was incredibly strong, and it was mixing with the traditional aroma of petrol and chemicals that Vyvyan normally gave off.

“What is that ghastly smell?” He frowned, stepping back a few paces, “really Vyvyan, what have you been doing to smell like that? Is it another one of your stupid experiments?” Vyvyan’s lips pursed, and he looked at the knife in his hand before throwing it at Rick with ridiculous accuracy. It hit him in the shoulder and bounced off, making Vyvyan sneer in disgust. Before he could get a chance to protest at the behaviour, Vyvyan was in front of Rick, taking his knife back and heading to the sofa.

“At least I don’t smell like a pile of puke.”

“Yes well, we all know whose fault that is don’t we Vyvyan?” Rick spluttered, following him to the sofa; remembering immediately afterwards that he had deliberately been avoiding the topic of why his bed was filled with sick.

“Yeah, yours.” Vyvyan replied, pulling a screwdriver out from the side of the sofa and continuing his work on the timer. Rick folded his arms and dropped onto the sofa, thoroughly aghast at the suggestion.

“Because I frequently throw up in a bin and then pour it on my bed, don’t I?” Vyvyan shrugged in reply, watching with interest as the timer began to spark in his hand. Rick glowered at him, impatiently waiting for a more reasonable reply. When he realized he wasn’t going to get one, he reached over to grab the screwdriver from Vyvyan’s hand, knocking the timer to the floor. It hit the ground with a sudden gasp of electricity and poofed, sparking into flames and then sizzling into a black mess. The pair watched it happen, equally intrigued and concerned at what might happen. When it finally fizzled out, Vyvyan turned to Rick with tightened lips, his hand still gripping the screwdriver beneath Rick’s fingers.

“I’m going to give you to the count of three to take your hand off of mine, and start running, prissy pants, before I take this screwdriver and shove it up your backside.” He growled, a sense of calm to the words underlining the true threat. Rick swallowed uneasily, fingers gently letting go of the screwdriver and hovering above it.

“One.” Rick shivered as Vyvyan leant closer, the scent of spice and oil, mixed with the proximity of the ginger punk turning his stomach over and over in loops. He didn’t move, as if afraid that if he did, the countdown would skip a few numbers (a not entirely unfounded fear).

“Two.” Vyvyan’s eyes bored into his, searching for any sign of retaliation. Rick felt his chest heaving slightly, the sensation of being unable to breathe overcoming him, making him light-headed.

“Three.” Vyvyan growled, grabbing the front of Rick’s shirt and pulling him forwards. For a brief minute, Rick thought he was going to get another violent kiss, and his heart danced dangerously at the prospect. Instead, Vyvyan head-butted him, and he found himself reeling back in pain. Vyvyan went to pull him forward again, but Rick scrambled out of his way, tripping over his own limbs to get off the sofa and away from him.

“Really Vyvyan, you’re going to have to do more than that to terrify me,” he taunted, heart still thumping heavily in his chest, head aching from the contact, “I’ve lived with you long enough to know you won’t come anywhere near my -” the word jolted in his mouth, realizing what he was suggesting. Quickly, he recovered and changed his sentence, “I mean, you can’t think one measly screwdriver could scare me!”

“You’re right, this calls for something a bit more extreme.” He pulled the knife out again, crawling over the end of the sofa to swipe at Rick’s legs, narrowly missing them as he jumped backwards. The sudden action set him running, realizing that Vyvyan was getting to his feet, the glee of the chase clear on his face. “Get back here you sissy virgin, it’ll only hurt more if you wriggle!”

“Get away from me Vyvyan, I’m serious!” The sound of Vyvyan’s boots chasing him up the stairs, leisurely taking two at a time, made the nausea in his stomach roll around like waves, meeting the unusual beating of his heart to make a strange, ethereal musical pounding that vibrated throughout his entire body. It was distracting, exciting and terrifying all at once - and was the only reason he could come up as to what made him choose to hide in Vyvyan’s room instead of his own.

Finding himself back in the dark, chemical strewn room once more, Rick stopped running. He could hear Vyvyan trashing his room opposite, and peered back out the door to see whether he could sneak past him without being seen. Not that it would help. And not that he was even certain he wanted to. Being chased (and injured) by Vyvyan was just so normal compared to the last few weeks, it was almost a blessing. But the feelings were still there and they weren’t going away. The nausea seemed to be a permanent state, and he was beginning to get used to it. Maybe even like it.

Stepping back inside, he sat on the unmade bed, waiting for the inevitable moment Vyvyan worked out he wasn’t in his room. He leant backwards, shoulders hitting the wall and supporting him. He could see the mess Vyvyan was creating through the hole in his door and realized with a heavy heart he’d have to tidy all that up later. On a plus, though, Neil probably wasn’t enjoying it either, so there was that. Bloody hippy.

“Oi, get out of my room!” Vyvyan spied him through the hole, and Rick stuck his fingers up in clear retaliation, not moving an inch. Vyvyan’s body crashed out of Rick’s room and slammed closed the door behind him as he entered his own room. “Right, piss face, you asked for this-“

“Oh shut up Vyvyan.” Rick interrupted, voice shaking a bit, “we both know you’re not going to really hurt me. And we both know why.” He raised both eyebrows pointedly, trying to convey a sense of confidence behind words that were clearly a lie. Vyvyan looked him up and down, then at the knife in his hand, and seemed to think it over, before reaching over and backhanding Rick. Rick swore, clutching at his jaw where Vyvyan’s knuckles had made contact.

“Is your answer to everything mindless violence?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Vyvyan nodded, swivelling the knife in his hand. Rick eyed it uncomfortably, wishing Vyvyan hadn’t closed the door.

“Well it’s a pretty poor answer in my opinion.” He snarled, shifting on the bed as Vyvyan leant forward, putting his foot on the bed to maintain his balance. “What do you expect to achieve? We’re not in Russia, you know, brute force doesn’t get you whatever you want served up on a plate.” Vyvyan said nothing, but his head ducked a little, and Rick could see a twinge of red filling his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes, thinking over what he’d just said. Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. “Or…”

“Shut up, frog features.” Vyvyan interrupted, face snapping back up to meet Rick’s eyes. “Like I’d ever want you in here.”

“You made that pretty clear last night, don’t worry.” He spat the words venomously, folding his arms. The sick feeling rose up in Rick’s throat, heart beating hard against his ribs as he brought the topic back to their conversation. “I just wanted-”

Suddenly Vyvyan was on the bed beside him in one swift movement, a hand across his mouth, knife under his chin. The strange mixture of oil, spices and chemicals that he’d smelt earlier surrounded him, choking him with its pungency. He licked his lips nervously, unconsciously tasting Vyvyan’s skin as he did so. He was hyper aware of every movement Vyvyan made, from the tip of knife pushing harder against his flesh to the way he shifted from one knee to the other, stabilising his weight as he leant over Rick. The knife dropped, hitting Rick’s crotch, but he was too distracted by the sudden grip on his chin that twisted his face to face Vyvyan’s. Vyvyan seemed to be struggling with something, searching for an answer in Rick’s wide eyes. The pain of his tight grip over the area he’d just smacked almost brought tears to Rick’s eyes, but he didn’t shut them, fearing it would just make it worse.

“I don’t want to talk about it Rick. I _know_ what you want to talk about and I’m not interested in hearing about your girly feelings on the matter.” The words were both a statement of fact and a threat, one that pressed harder into his jaw as the sentence continued. “So stop trying to get me to open up like some flowery virgin, and leave me alone.” He let go of Rick’s face and started to get back off the bed, only to stop when Rick suddenly lunged for his hand, grabbing it with both his own.

“That’s not fair, Vyvyan!” It wasn’t quite a wail or a cry, but it held the same desperation as one. Vyvyan swivelled, pointedly looking at where Rick was holding onto him. His eyes watched as Rick’s fingers loosened their grip until they were completely off of him, Rick’s body deflating backwards, curling away from him.

“This is just so typical of you. Breaking things and hurting people is in your nature, I don’t know why I thought you’d be any different in relation to this.” He pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and tightening his mouth to hide the fact he was clearly trying not to cry. “Well, fine. It’s not like I wanted to get involved with you anyway. Who would want to do that? I can find some much nicer bird to – some pretty girly who doesn’t want to break my face in and makes me dinner – I mean, equally, of course, we’ll equally make dinner, I am a feminist after all. And we’ll talk about our feelings and it’ll be lovely and pain free, and nothing like what you would’ve given me.”

“You couldn’t get a pretty girl to look your way if you were a mirror, poof.”

“Oh shut up, Vyvyan, just _shut_ _up_. I came in here with the sole intent of hoping maybe you’d use your mouth for something much more enjoyable than trading insults but I get it, you don’t want me, you never did, you’re just being weird and it was all just a big laugh, hahaha. Well I knew that was the case all along and I wasn’t fooled for -” the last of Rick’s words disappeared into Vyvyan’s lips, a harsh pressure against his own that swallowed them whole. It took a few seconds for Rick to truly understand what was happening, and when he did, the wave of nausea followed with a vengeance. Vyvyan’s hand was gripping his neck tightly, refusing to give him the chance to back out, forcing him into the kiss.

“Poof,” Vyvyan bit on Rick’s bottom lip as he pulled back from the kiss, recapturing his mouth again. His fingers moved from Rick’s neck to toy with the tiny plaits that dangled from amongst the mess of hair, tugging on one suddenly, causing Rick to yelp, mouth opening wider. Instantly Vyvyan deepened the kiss, tongue exploring Rick’s mouth with no finesse, no structure. His body pressed hard against Rick’s as he pushed him back into the wall, and Rick felt the nausea disappear, travelling southward, becoming arousal at the rough treatment he was getting. A whimper jolted against Vyvyan’s mouth as he tugged hard at the pigtail again, a soft but incredibly distinguishable sound. The noise seemed to break the mood, and Vyvyan pulled back, chest heaving, lips flushed from use.

“Vyv,” Rick breathed the word more than spoke it, eyes wide. Vyvyan tugged hard on the pigtail he still had his fingers around, frustration clear on his face. Rick yelped in pain, still slightly aroused by the action, but less so now he wasn’t directly connected to the source.

“Don’t ask. Don’t talk. Just shut up and -” whatever the last word had planned to be, Vyvyan avoided it and returned to the act of forcing his tongue into Rick’s mouth. His hand reached for Rick’s chest, as though it were the next logical step, but then stalled when it was clear that might not work as he’d anticipated. He let it drop, still crushing Rick’s mouth with his own, stealing every breath he had. Rick arched towards him, his own hands kept carefully by his side, although his fingers clearly itched to reach up and take hold of Vyvyan’s face.

Vyvyan grabbed the twitching fingers beside him, pinning him in place with a grip that brought tears to Rick’s eyes again. He shifted slightly, his little finger almost lacing with Rick’s, entangling them together in a bastardised version of hand holding. His nose ring pressed hard into Rick’s flesh, the pain making him whimper again, but this time the sound was so soft it was almost unnoticeable. Rick felt his lungs burning, craving the air that was all but forbidden to them by Vyvyan’s actions. Finally unable to take it much more, he wrenched his mouth from Vyvyan’s, breathing heavily to one side.

Though tempted to ask, Rick opted to stay quiet, chest rising and falling rapidly as he filled his lungs with air. He shifted, as if to bring space between them, but stopped as the grip on his hand loosened. A glance toward Vyvyan revealed he was breathing just as heavily, eyes intensely locked on the skin under Rick’s ear. Without warning, he ran his tongue along it, wet and rough and so incredibly disgusting that Rick jolted away. Vyvyan grinned, and did it again, using his teeth biting the bottom of Rick’s ear to stop him moving. The flushed tinge to his skin matched that of the reddened state of Rick’s neck. Rick tried to pull away again, but the wall behind them stopped him, forcing him to endure the repeated action. Giving in, he shut his eyes and bared his neck; pretending that the sensation of Vyvyan’s tongue wasn’t making his arousal worse with every lick. When Vyvyan’s teeth bit hard into his neck, he couldn’t contain the sound that escaped his mouth, the noise both a whimper and a low groan of approval.

“Shut _up_ , poof,” Vyvyan hissed in his ear, covering his mouth with his spare hand, “Do you really want Neil in here asking what’s going on? Or Mike?” Frustrated, Rick untangled his hand from Vyvyan’s and tugged his fingers away.

“Well maybe you should ruddy well stop assaulting me then! What do you expect me to do, just lie still and take it?” A brief look of uncertainty crossed Vyvyan’s face, but quickly disappeared when he caught as Rick dropping his gaze to his lips.

“That’s exactly what I expect you to do, you wet blanket,” he growled, hand gripping tightly onto Rick’s top and pulling him closer. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Only because you told me to shut up,” Rick’s voice was petulant, rather than afraid, and Vyvyan rolled his eyes, ignoring him and letting him go. He sat back, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it on what appeared to be a sparking pen.

Rick scrambled back as far as he could, hoping increase the gap between himself and Vyvyan, the tenting of his trousers becoming uncomfortably more obvious as he did so. Trying not to call attention to it, he pursed his lips and stared across the room to the window. Vyvyan said nothing, just sat with his back to the wall smoking.

After a few moments, Rick softened his gaze, and turned to look at Vyvyan beside him. Despite the nonchalance of his posture, one knee up, arm resting on it, he seemed oddly guarded. His eyes stared straight forwards, cigarette drifting in and out of his mouth slowly, like he was using it to calm himself down. The more Rick watched him, the more focused he appeared to be on the wall opposite.

“Uh…” not even a flinch. “Vyvyan…?”

“What?”

“Was… was that -I mean, what… what was that?” He used a hand to indicate, waving between the two of them. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it -”

“Poof.” Vyvyan interrupted, putting his cigarette out on the wall beside him, away from Rick. Rick felt the annoyance rising in his chest again, a growing frustration that Vyvyan could be so dismissive of something he’d inflicted on him.

“Look here matey, I don’t think I was the only one enjoying that, I’m pretty sure we were both involved and you were most certainly giving as good as you got, if not more. In fact if we want to be completely honest here, if anyone here is a poof, it’s not me, because you’re the one who attacked me. I wasn’t the one with my tongue doing unspeakable things to your neck, was I? No I was not. So if anyone here is going to be accusing anyone of being a poof, it’s going to be me. I mean,” he stumbled slightly over his words, “I mean me accusing you. Not me being – you know what I mean.” By this point Vyvyan had turned to Rick, one eyebrow raised, patiently waiting for him to finish his babbling speech.

“Done?”

“Well, I don’t know. Are we?” Rick asked, his voice shaking with uncertainty. The look in Vyvyan’s eye was familiar, it was the same dark look he had before he normally hit Rick with whatever he could get his hand on. But Rick wasn’t sure he trusted himself to believe that look any more, not now it could mean anything else. Luckily, (or unluckily), Vyvyan didn’t give him long to ponder it, as he picked up a wooden plank from down the side of his bed and whacked him with it. Square on the forehead. Twice.

“Ouch, Vyvyan! For Cliff’s sake!” Rick cried, trying to defend his face as Vyvyan lined the plank up again. He shut his eyes, grimacing and preparing for the next hit, when he felt the plank drop beside him, the weight on the mattress shift. Cautiously he opened one eye, realizing that he was, quite obviously, alone. “Vyvyan?” He called, slowly dropping his arms and peering around the room. The door to the room was open, the empty hallway answering his call with silence.


	2. Pour your metal in my mouth, lick my lips and taste yourself

Blind drunkenness was the answer. It always was. Any question posed to him, Vyvyan knew the best answer was always, get blindingly drunk and forget about it. It had worked so well in the past, it would be foolish to give it up now.

Which is why he was at the corner shop picking up several bottles of bleach, paint-stripper, a few bottles of vodka, and one bottle of calpol (to improve the taste). He’d got a few bottles of penicillin back in his room he knew were way past their acceptable use date, and would probably help give him the kick he needed. That and the Ajax. Together, they’d combine to make an entirely lethal concoction that would hopefully take him out of his head long enough to forget that he’d just tasted Rick’s sweaty neck and heard his whimpery breaths close enough to his ear to send weird, uncomfortable shivers down his spine.

He dumped the bottles onto the counter loudly, causing the girl behind it to eye him and his obscure haul carefully before reluctantly ringing it up on the register.

“That’s twenty pounds and forty pence,” she spoke around her gum, bored of the transaction already. He dropped a couple of notes and coins on the desk, not bothering to worry about the change. It was Neil’s money anyway, so it didn’t really matter if he overspent. (The hippy had been storing his money in an envelope in the kitchen cupboard for the last year, thinking nobody would know it was there. He hadn’t realised that Vyvyan had watched him hide it and had been taking what he wanted out of it whenever Neil added his monthly allowance to it.)

It was only once he was outside the front of their house that he realized Rick might still be in his room, waiting for answers. Maybe he could get him incredibly drunk and make him forget the whole thing too. It seemed like a good idea, until he recalled Rick really couldn’t handle his drink and would probably just end up being sick and feeling sorry for himself. Vyvyan couldn’t stand it when he got all morose, it made him want to do strange things, like make him feel better. In fact, it was Rick being bloody morose that had started this entire problem.

Rather than deal with that, he turned on his heels and took his collection of beverages to the closest park he could find, and promptly found a spot in the shade to sit and throw them all together. He downed a bottle of vodka, so he had somewhere to mix his drink, and started pouring the bleach and paint-stripper into the empty bottle.  After adding some calpol and shaking it all together, he took a swig. Not as good as some of the other things he’d created in his time, but it had enough of a burn. It didn’t, however, seem to be making him forget. So he downed it, and made a new batch with more vodka and bleach in, to see whether it was better.

He continued like this through all of the bottles, until he realized he’d run out. The sun, once screaming across the park like an offensive relative, had disappeared, slowly making room for the beginning of night. And he still couldn’t get the image of Rick’s face as he licked his throat out of his mind. The sounds he’d made, the slightly heavily lidded look he’d shot Vyvyan before his indignancies had returned; it all echoed loudly through his head, shattered only by Rick’s voice re-iterating how it was Vyvyan that had started all this, how Vyvyan was the one enjoying it.

Vyvyan lit a cigarette, throwing the empty bottle into a bush with the others. The problem (which seemed much worse now he was drunk, much to his dismay) was he’d already accepted it, in his mind, that maybe he did like Rick in a completely poofy way. After their first kiss, and the one that had immediately followed, he’d spent the night trying to bleach his own tongue, to remove the taste. But the truth was he’d only attempted it half heartedly, and realistically didn’t care that the taste of Rick’s mouth lingered.

Shutting his eyes, he let himself remember the pressure of Rick’s chin beneath his fingertips, solid and yet oily, skin rough to touch. The tension of his body pressing against Vyvyan’s as he’d pushed him into the wall with his mouth, the feeling of Rick’s inexperienced tongue trying to massage his own. The sweaty fingers intertwined with his own, the soft, pathetic sound he made as Vyvyan’s teeth had sunk into his earlobe. The heavy pressure he’d felt growing beneath his body the more aroused Rick became. God, how he’d wanted to push those buttons harder and harder until Rick was crying beneath him.

He could just see the look of frustration in Rick’s eyes when he stopped to shut him up. He wasn’t the only one who wanted it. And that’s where it became a problem. He’d assumed, although with varying degrees of belief, that Rick wouldn’t _really_ want it. That the reason he’d reacted how he had the first time was entirely response based. Chemicals releasing for the first time, new experiences, the shock of the situation. But then he’d persistently followed Vyvyan until he’d given him no choice but to address the situation. He’d expected to have an argument, some kind of screaming match that would end with Rick making him promise never to come near him again. Instead he’d found him waiting in his room and accusing him of being drunk. (Inaccurately, Vyvyan thought, because mostly he had just been high. The booze didn’t numb his feelings like he’d wanted so he’d peppered it with something stronger.)

Maybe it was his own fault. Maybe he’d softened too much towards the prick. Knowing how easily Rick tried to find meaning in things, he should never have changed his attitude towards him; shouldn’t have treated him differently after a casual beating. But when he hadn’t woken up for several hours, it had worried him. Especially as he’d not really been himself since his parents’ death and… OK, maybe watching him sleep had been nice. Maybe getting the chance to enjoy just being around him without the fear of being called out about it was a bonus he had abused.

The sudden noise of other students wandering through the park alerted Vyvyan to the fact it was getting late; his dead cigarette hanging from his fingertips, burnt out to a stub. The bleach cocktail inside of him growled, hungrily churning up his stomach and begging to be released. As he stood, the feeling overwhelmed him and he promptly vomited in the bush by his empties, a pink tinged hue of regrettable actions. The unsettled feeling that followed reminded him he’d not eaten much since breakfast (other than Rick’s tongue and flesh, his mind helpfully supplied) and probably ought to get a kebab to negate the impending burning that always came after his drinking experiments.

When he finally turned up at the house again, it was past midnight. The kebab had been followed by a trip to a local party that he had no desire to go to, but it meant he didn’t have to face going home and seeing Rick. He was sure Rick would’ve given up waiting by the time he got in, although after the other night he wondered if that was even true, or if he even wanted it to be. The idea of Rick just patiently waiting in his room for what could either be abuse or snogging - with no idea which he would get when Vyvyan returned - was a bit of a turn on in itself. The fact he’d fight back if it were the former was the point, not the attack itself. Rick’s body struggling against his, and how it could easily turn from that into something more sexual - that was the thought that headed straight to Vyvyan’s groin.

It was these thoughts that occupied his mind as he traipsed through the hallway, pieces of the wooden door frame following in his wake. (It wasn’t his fault the frame had moved as he walked through it, the house was barely staying still. Or the ground wasn’t. One or the other, it was hard to say which, given how much he’d drunk.) For this reason, he didn’t immediately notice Mike standing at the bottom of the stairs in his PJs.

“Vyvyan.” The word pulled his attention, and he stared at Mike, confusion on his face. It wasn’t like Mike to be up at that time of night. He liked to be in bed by ten, so he had ample time to work on his latest get rich quick scheme. Or so he said. Vyvyan had caught him reading one of those filthy Mills and Boons books in bed once, a pile of tissues on the floor beside him. They’d both agreed, without words, to never mention it again; and for the peace Vyvyan had kept his side of the agreement.

“Mike?”

“I have just spent the afternoon – _my_ afternoon – listening to Neil moan about the state of Rick’s bedroom, which I understand to be your doing.” Vyvyan started to protest, but Mike shook his head. “I couldn’t care less what he did, or what you did, or what Neil didn’t do. When I have to spend my afternoon listening to Neil whine about how his alignment is out of sync with Earth’s energy due to the disharmony in the house, it’s an afternoon wasted. I don’t like to pull rank often but if I have to start getting involved with your incessant bickering just to get Neil off my back I will. I thought you and Rick were getting along much better lately. I thought maybe you’d both come to your senses and grown up a bit. But if that’s not the case, tell me now, and I’ll get some of my boys in to sort it out.”

“Sort it out?” The threat rolled around in Vyvyan’s head, liquid amongst the mental static he was already dealing with. “I don’t think ‘your boys’ would be able to.” He snorted, the idea of a load of Mike’s friends turning up and finding them mid-make-out both hilarious and terrifying. “I don’t think they’d know how.”

“Well someone had better work it out, because I’m not having another dinner with Rick crying into his lentils and Neil wittering on about how he really should be the one emotionally distraught, and that Rick should be apologising. It was enough to put a man off his casserole.” Mike folded his arms, shaking his head with disgust.

“Crying?” Mike walked past him, over to the kitchen, and sat himself down at the table, nodding to the chair opposite.

“Yes Vyv, crying.”

His mind still spinning, and with shards of wood still trailing behind him, Vyvyan followed him over. He sat down, head in his hands. Mike seemed unwilling to talk for a moment, but finally let out a sigh.

“If you want my advice, Vyv… whatever this… thing between you and Rick is, it can’t go on like this. Not just for mine or Neil’s sake. We’ve at least another year of living together. I’m not spending it watching you drink yourself into oblivion to cope, or watching you destroy the only real friendships you have.” Vyvyan snorted at the concept, only to have Mike lean forwards, a serious look on his face. “Come off it Vyv, you know those skinheads you hang out with wouldn’t save you from the pigs if it came to it. We robbed a bank together and came out the other side. Loyalty like that doesn’t come from nothing.”

“Shut up Mike, your advice sucks.” Vyvyan spat, offended on behalf of his other friends, however true he felt Mike’s words were. Part of him was curious to find out what Mike actually thought was going on between him and Rick, while the rest of him just felt like it was going to throw up on the table at the very thought of discussing his feelings. (Or possibly from the mixture of drinks, it was hard to say at this point.)

“Don’t muck it up, Vyv. Talk to him. Sort it out.” He paused, looking Vyvyan in the eye pointedly, “Or don’t, but at least stop destroying the house in the process. Next time you do, I’ll lock you in the broom cupboard with Neil and let him tell you all about his bloody misaligned chakras.” He stood up, as if to leave, then put his hand on Vyvyan’s shoulder. ”Understood?”

“Yes Mike.” Mike patted his shoulder, then headed for the stairs. He shot Vyvyan a parting glance, taking in the dejected look, and shook his head before going upstairs. Vyvyan shut his eyes and rested his head on the table, on top of his arms. His urge to vomit subsided, and he thought about what Mike had said until he fell asleep.

—————

“Oh that’s just great, isn’t it? I come down to have my cornflakes and Vyvyan is taking a nap all over the table.” Rick's voice broke through the haze of sleep, awakening Vyvyan to a familiar but consistent ringing in his ears.

“Shut up poof,” he growled, holding his head as he lifted it, eyes slowly opening to focus on the dark colour of Rick’s blazer. “I’m trying to recover from a hangover.”

“Well you can ruddy well do it somewhere else. It’s self induced and I don’t see why I should have my breakfast affected by your stupidity.” He dropped a bowl loudly on the table, followed by a crash of cutlery and a box of cornflakes. With every bang, Vyvyan felt his head pound angrily, his eyes almost vibrating in agony.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to-” Rick deliberately banged the milk bottle down next to him, sitting down on the other side of the table, just out of reach. He poured the cornflakes into his bowl, a defiant smile on his lips, and then loudly clattered a spoon into the bowl before taking a bite. Noisily.

“I think I’ll put the radio on, it’s nice to have music on with your breakfast, isn’t it Neil?” He asked, not waiting to get a reply before turning the radio on. The sound of the news began to cut through the air, only to disappear as he twisted the dial, finally stopping when it picked up a loud, angry beat.

“... _but your empty eyes seem to pass me by, leave me dancing with myself...”_ the repetitive sound of guitars, combined with Billy Idol’s voice, scratched through the noises in Vyvyan’s head; thin threads that tugged at every nerve. He reached over to where Rick had placed the radio back down, but instead accidentally knocked the volume button, making the sound twice as loud. “ _Let’s sink another drink, cos it’ll give me time to think…”_ blared across the kitchen loudly, until the radio was on the floor, under Vyvyan’s boot. In pieces.

“Oh very mature, Vyvyan.” Rick snapped, slamming his spoon down. “You won’t even let me just enjoy one little thing, will you?”

“You don’t even like Billy Idol, Rick.” The exasperation tugged harder at the nerves, words exploding out of Vyvyan’s mouth without permission. “You called him a moral-less punk who didn’t deserve to share the same radio waves as your beloved Cliff.”

“People can change their minds about things, Vyvyan. I would’ve thought you of all people would know that.” The sharp edge to his voice disguised the slight shake to his tone, his eyes focused entirely on the cornflakes box. Vyvyan could just see the red rims, the tears threatening to appear. His head felt like bursting, the noise and vibrations inside rattling at a continuing pace that would not quit. Yet even the sounds ricocheting around his mind did nothing to mute the sick guilty feeling that was rising in his lungs; the guilt that came from knowing he had hurt Rick emotionally. Again. Maybe the spotty twerp was right, hurting people was just in his nature. Even when he didn’t intend to.

“Neil. I think your shed is on fire.” He stated abruptly, not bothering to look away from Rick.

“What? Oh, heavy, heavy beans man, my new herb garden is right next to it, they’ll all burn.” Pulling himself off the floor (where he had been meditating, Vyvyan realized), Neil raced to the back door. He paused when he reached it, and then looked back to the table with a puzzled look. “Oh nice one Vyvyan, yeah, make the hippy lose his inner calm with a warning of impending doom. There’s no fire out there.”

“Oh, terribly sorry Neil, maybe I misspoke. ‘If you don’t get out of here now, I’m going to set your shed alight’ is what I _meant_ to say.” He gave Neil a promising smile, and Neil nodded, taking the hint for what it was and disappearing outside. Once he’d gone, Vyvyan swept a quick look around the living room, which was not the best idea given his current state. Luckily, it only took one look to establish Mike was nowhere to be seen and they were alone again.

Rick seemed to anticipate that the fact they were alone together again had been intentional and was now eyeing Vyvyan with suspicion and fear. He had taken his spoon back into his hand and looked ready to defend himself from what he perceived to be a possible attack; although the sadness hadn’t left his eyes and his posture looked more dejected than normal. Everything about him seemed slightly dimmer to Vyvyan, although that might’ve been due to the fact the light was worsening his headache and causing him to squint.

“Look, fartypants, I don’t know why you’re acting like such a big girl's blouse this morning, but can you knock it off? My head hurts, I don’t need your girly hormonal mood swings making it worse.”

“ _My_ hormonal mood swings?” Rick dropped his spoon on the table with exaggerated frustration, folding his arms defensively. “I’m not the one who ran off...” he hesitated, aware how thin a tightrope he was walking but also aware he couldn’t turn back now he’d taken the first step. But, Vyvyan realized, it was more than just that. He was trying not to get emotional about it, trying not to show how upset he really was over the fact. The throbbing behind his eyes pushed him to interrupt, unable to deal with more of Rick’s emotional drama.

“Oh shut up poof, I didn’t run off, I just didn’t feel like sticking around and listening to you insult me in my own bedroom.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Why would I have run away from you, Rick? You’re about as threatening as a corn on the cob with no kernels. You spend most of your time trying to encourage love and peace between people and hiding behind Neil when anything threatening appears. Except me of course, you seem quite willing to jump straight into danger when I’m involved.” Vyvyan pointed out, rubbing his eyes with his palm.

“I mean, yes, well, when you put it like that-” Rick shifted in his chair, arms loosening a little. “But you still – left.”

“Because you were calling me a poof!”

“You _always_ call me a poof!”

“Yeah but that’s different.” Vyvyan pointed out, picking up the spoon and using it to clean under his nails, deliberately avoiding looking at Rick. The thrumming in his head was slowly beginning to subside, and he wondered just how much of it had been from hangover and how much had just been from tension building up inside.

“Oh right, because it wasn’t _your_ tongue down my throat yesterday, wasn’t _your_ fingers grabbing at mine.” Rick replied, anger returning to his face. He shook his head, standing up suddenly as if to leave.

“Just because you don’t like the fact you enjoyed it, Vyvyan, doesn’t mean -” Vyvyan reached for Rick’s top and pulled him back down, startling him. His fingers pressed against the tabletop, just about preventing him from toppling over onto Vyvyan’s lap. Swallowing, he tried to regain his train of thoughts, struggling against the grip. “… doesn’t mean you didn’t do it, it just-“

“Shut up.” He pulled Rick closer, capturing his lips to cut him off. Rick struggled harder, until Vyvyan realized he wasn’t giving in and let him go. Rick wiped the back of his hand over his lips, clearly offended by Vyvyan’s action.

“Will you stop doing that, Vyvyan! You can’t just keep forcing yourself on me whenever you decide and then acting like it didn’t happen, it’s not fair to – to - lead me on. Yes. That’s what it is Vyvyan. You’re leading me on and it’s not right.”

“Stop being such a girl Rick.” He stood up, grabbing hold of Rick’s arm and pulling him towards the stairs. Under his breath, he muttered angrily to himself, “It’s hardly leading you on when we both want it.”

As he stumbled up the stairs to Rick’s room, Rick still in tow, he wondered if he had anything in his room to stop the sudden echoing in his head, the sound of his own heartbeat playing his ribs like bongos. It wasn’t like the normal hangover he got after a night out, it felt more temperamental, changing with every move he made. He practically threw Rick onto the bed, slamming the door behind them. Rick cradled his wrist carefully, eyes watching Vyvyan’s every action. As Vyvyan took a step towards him, he scooted backwards defensively.

“Look,” Vyvyan started, sitting down on the end of the bed, giving him the space he clearly wanted. “If you don’t want me to snog you any more - I won’t.” He shut his eyes, remembering the vague discussion with Mike the night before, the agreement he made to sort it out. “And I - I’m really sorry. OK?” He looked to Rick, not sure what to expect.

“Why did you bring me up here just to say that? You could’ve said that in the kitchen. You nearly broke my wrist yanking me upstairs! Imagine the people’s poet unable to write! The kids would be deprived of-” Rick cut off his own rambling, taking in the look of restraint and sneering disapproval on Vyvyan’s face. “You probably don’t even mean it anyway.” He sniffed, looking away.

“Oh for god's sake – I promise not to snog your face off ever again, OK? I’m sorry I ever did in the first place, it was like making out with a live jellied eel.” Vyvyan growled, scratching at his cheek and turning to stare at the floor. Rick said nothing for a minute, then slowly moved down next to Vyvyan, his legs folding beneath him awkwardly as he shuffled into a seated position.

“What if – what if maybe I – what if I wanted you to?” He barely gave Vyvyan a chance to reply, before rushing his next sentence out. “What if I kiss you instead?”

“Only a girl like you would-” but whatever it was Vyvyan was accusing him of was cut off, because the minute he turned his head to meet Rick’s eyes, Rick leant forwards and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his lips. The kiss was brief, but only because Rick lost his balance and fell towards Vyvyan, hitting him and causing them both to topple off the edge of the bed, onto the floor.  The boards creaked threateningly beneath them, but held fast. From their combined heap on the ground, Rick gave a groan of disapproval, and Vyvyan took the chance to get the upper hand. He flipped them both so he was atop of Rick, and held his shoulders down tightly.

“You’re giving me incredibly mixed signals Rick, either you don’t want me to snog your face off or you do, which is it?” Rick struggled against the grip, trying to push Vyvyan off by bucking his hips, but he regretted the action immediately afterwards as a flush of arousal pulsed through his skin. He let out a frustrated sound, pursing his lips in annoyance.

“ _I’m_ not the one giving mixed signals here. You’re the one telling me you don’t want to snog me, then pinning me to the ground.”

“Fine, I do want to snog you. OK? Is that what you want to hear? I want to taste every inch of your skin. I want to ram you against the wall and hear you whimper as I do _unspeakable_ things to your bottom. What else do you need me to say? I _want_ you.” Vyvyan yelled in frustration, directly avoiding Rick’s gaze as he did so, the flush of colour in his cheeks telling Rick that he wasn’t joking. Finally Vyvyan returned to meet his eyes, and was un-surprised to see the glossiness that indicated he was about to cry. “Now what? You want me to want you, you don’t want me to want you - make your bloody mind up.”

“It’s just very beautiful to hear you proclaim it so openly, that’s all.” Rick sniffed, shifting beneath his hands. Vyvyan rolled his eyes and let go of his shoulders, sitting back to give him room to move. Rick wiped his face with the back of his hand, then wiped it on the bedclothes beside them.

“Are you done? Can I snog your face off now?”

“Oh honestly Vyvyan, is that all you think about? We’re having a lovely moment and you just want to ruin it with your,” he stuttered, realizing Vyvyan was no longer listening but instead eyeing his neck. “Your sexual appetite. I’m not easy, you know. This isn’t a thing that I’m just going to jump head first into just because you’re the first person to show interest- I mean, not that, not that you are, of course, I have all the birds after me-”

“Rick?” Vyvyan interrupted, voice thick with warning, “if you start telling me about how many birds you’ve had after you instead of letting me snog your face off, I’ll knock you out and find someone else instead.”

“Why, are you jealous?” Rick asked, curiosity slightly overtaking the teasing tone he started with.

“Incredibly, you stupid twat, now hold still.” And with that, Vyvyan pushed his lips against the surprised “oh” that rested on Rick’s mouth. It seemed to Rick slightly more timid than his other kisses had been, although it still had all the delicacy of a giraffe on a motorbike; teeth bumping and a hardness that Rick was certain just came from Vyvyan naturally. But the hand on his neck, cold feeling of metal rings on fingers angling his chin to make it a more pleasant experience didn’t go unnoticed. It felt nice. _Too_ nice. It felt too much like the sort of kiss you’d get from a relative. It didn’t quite feel like Vyvyan at all. Rick pulled back from the kiss, pushing Vyvyan away with his hand.

“Now what?”

“Uh… well… maybe it’s just best we don’t do this. The dynamics of the house are delicate, we’ve not really thought it through…”

“Only a moment ago you were well up for it!”

“Well, yes, you see, uhm, it was a bit… different. Maybe we got caught up in it before.”

“You’re giving me a right headache, poof.” Vyvyan answered, backing off. “First you want it then you don’t, then it’s too aggressive-“

“I never said that!” Rick sat up suddenly, bringing his face close enough to Vyvyan’s to count his spots. He carefully avoided staring at them, eyes deliberately focusing on Vyvyan’s blue ones instead. “I never!”

“You said it was like being assaulted! You said I couldn’t just go forcing myself on you. So I didn’t.” He narrowed his eyes, feeling the dots slowly connect. “Is that it?”

“I’m not prepared to discuss my reasons with you, Vyvyan.” The replay came out automatically, and Vyvyan snorted, taking it as a confirmation. He grabbed Rick’s shirt and pulled him forwards, lips crashing together. The metal of his nose ring pressed hard against Rick’s flesh, hand reaching behind his head to hold him there, thumb flicking the tiny plaits as he stroked the nape of his neck. They pushed hard against one another as Rick moved into the kiss, his hand reaching to support them by grabbing at Vyvyan’s thigh.

Vyvyan tugged at one of the plaits, recalling how it had made Rick whimper and open his mouth further, hoping it would do the same again. Rick’s fingers gripped hard into his thigh but he took the hint, allowing Vyvyan to claim his entire mouth, almost shaking beneath his touch. The taste of stale cigarettes, last night’s kebab and something inherently chemical joined with a toothpaste-y cornflakes concoction, revolting and yet somehow incredibly alluring to them both. As Rick’s fingers dug harder into Vyvyan’s thigh, he groaned, hands dropping down to Rick’s back to support him and pull him closer.

One hand slid further down, reaching the connection between Rick’s jeans and his top, tucked in tightly like the swot he was. No matter what Vyvyan tried, he found it impossible to get his fingers further down, and gave up, focusing instead on breaking the kiss and biting Rick’s lip. The sound of Rick’s heavy breathing turning into whimpers the more he attacked his lips just made him want to press harder, push him further. He could feel Rick’s hand trying to get a better grip, sliding up his thigh, hooking into his belt loops.

“Vyv,” Rick interrupted, awkwardly speaking around the teeth attached to his lower lip. Vyvyan pulled back, hands still tight around Rick’s waist.“Can- can we get off the floor?” His voice was breathless, eyes were slightly dazed. It was all Vyvyan could do not to push him backwards, ignore his request and carry on his assault, maybe find a new part of his face to devour. But his knees were beginning to feel the wood shards beneath them, uncomfortable in a bad way, and he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t move soon.

“Wimp,” he chastised, pushing Rick backwards and climbing to his feet. Once he was steady, he reached down and grabbed Rick by the front of his shirt, lifting him up and throwing him onto the bed. Rick whacked against the wall with a loud thump, but seemed unphased by the pain, too busy being distracted by the way Vyvyan was clambering over to hover above him.

“Better?” He asked, nearly resting his starred forehead on Rick’s. When Rick gave a brief nod, he closed the gap between their mouths, hungry to return. Underneath him, he could feel Rick’s hips pressing up, desperate for contact with him, and pushed down in retaliation, shocked at how good the pressure felt through his jeans. He broke the kiss, mouth moving to Rick’s ear, teeth and lips grazing the flesh beneath and tasting the sweaty heat there.

“Vyv,” Rick’s voice was just a breathless mess, hands reaching to grab around Vyvyan’s back, wanting to be closer, wanting more of whatever Vyvyan was offering. His fingers caught on the seams of Vyvyan’s jacket, and he pushed at the denim, trying to find a way around it to get at the t-shirt beneath. Somehow he managed to slide his hands underneath, then past the fabric to find the soft skin of Vyvyan’s back. Vyvyan stopped his assault on Rick’s neck at the touch, freezing in place as he felt the sharp edges of Rick’s fingernails claw at his skin.

It took Rick a second to notice that the grinding against his hips had stopped, the saliva on his neck drying coolly with no lips to cover it. Tentatively, he turned to meet Vyvyan’s eyes, loosening his grip. Vyvyan took the chance to kiss him again, not giving him the chance to ask why he’d stopped. The kiss was lighter than the previous attack, still as hungry but something about it was different. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t kind – but it was softer than the heady mash of teeth and tongues from moments before. Vyvyan’s fingers ran through the mess of Rick’s hair, deepening the kiss while pressing his body down against Rick. His hand reached down between their bodies, forcing its way to the front of Rick’s jeans and grabbing the crotch, hard. Rick gasped into the kiss, bucking upwards. His own hands flew to the bed beneath him, gripping the sheets in surprise. When Vyvyan’s fingers reached for the button on the front of his jeans, he shuddered. Turning away, he broke the kiss and pushed Vyvyan backwards suddenly.

“I- I don’t think- I’m not sure - ” he stuttered, flushed all over and trying to escape the cage that Vyvyan’s body made around him. The way he scrambled around, Vyvyan realized, came from a change of heart, as if something had just tripped a switch and he was going into a full panic. Vyvyan grabbed him roughly and slapped him, trying to snap him out of it. The shocked, hurt look Rick shot him made him hesitate before speaking. When he did, his voice came out more aggressively than he intended, as if the frustration of being stopped was leaking between each word.

“I thought that was what you wanted! You were practically undressing me!”

“I – I’m just not sure this is the best idea, you know, you’ve probably done this before and I just – you know I’m still a virgin and it’s just a bit much first time.” Rick replied, fear and shame obvious from the way he refused to look at Vyvyan. “… I’m not ready. You haven’t even asked me on a date yet, I’m not letting your octopus hands touch me wherever they want.”

Vyvyan rolled off of him, lying down beside him, and pulled a cigarette out, offering it to Rick. After hesitating for a moment, Rick took it and allowed him to light it. After letting him take a drag, Vyvyan took it from his mouth and mirrored the action. He held onto it, offering it out to Rick’s lips, only to capture them with his own as Rick leant forwards. He held the cigarette away, careful not to burn him as they kissed, the repeated action slowly revealing to them both the best way to enjoy their locked lips. He didn’t bother to deepen it, just pulled back and took another drag before offering it to Rick again.

“Have you calmed down enough to stop being a complete girl about this yet?” He asked, after a few moments of passing cigarettes back and forth. His own heart was still beating harder, and his lips craved more of Rick’s body, but it was less intense than it had been. His hangover had finally disappeared amongst the other feelings, now all that remained of the night before was the chemical flavour left in his throat.

“I still don’t think -”

“I haven’t, you know,” Vyvyan interrupted, stopping Rick before he could try to explain how much of a girl he really was. “Done this before. I thought you wanted it, I was following your lead.” Putting the latest cigarette out on the bedpost beside him, he pressed another kiss to Rick’s mouth. This time he did deepen it, hand going to Rick’s waist and holding him as they kissed. He didn’t move his body any closer, just lay beside Rick, kissing him as deeply as he could without moving. Rick relaxed into the kiss, cautiously reaching up to run his hand along Vyvyan’s neck, stopping short of putting his fingers through the mohawk. The temptation to do so was strong, but the knowledge that Vyvyan might kill him for touching it was slightly stronger.

“Guys? Guys, there’s a sandwich for you down here if you want it. I mean I don’t suppose you do, even though I spent all my time making them, and it’s not like you’ll thank me for it anyway but- guys? I’ll leave them on the table then, I’m off to the shop. Try not to make too much mess when I’m out, OK?”

The sound of Neil’s voice broke them apart, both shifting slightly aside, a tiny space appearing between their slowly gravitating bodies. They both said nothing, waiting for the inevitable door slam that followed Neil’s leaving. The house shook, and Vyvyan swung his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up.

“Whe-where are you going?”

“To get a sandwich. I’ve barely eaten since last night.” Vyvyan pointed out, heading for the door. “Some twat spent all of my morning wasting time on his girly emotional breakdown and now I’m starving.”

“Well,” Rick started, awkwardly clambering to his feet to follow, “maybe if some prick hadn’t interrupted my breakfast with his hangover we wouldn’t have had to. In fact, if someone - naming no names, _Vyvyan_ \- hadn’t spent all night getting zazzed rather than dealing with his emotions-” Vyvyan stopped on the stairs before him, grabbing him by the shirt and holding him against the stairwell wall.

“Look here, poof, before you go telling the world about your new-found love of men, you might want to understand that I will not be advertising this to anyone. It’s nothing personal,” he added, seeing the obvious hurt on Rick’s face, “although I doubt anyone would believe I’d want to shag you anyway. But I want to be a doctor, and I can’t have anything stopping me.”

“Why would-”

“Don’t be stupid. Doctors need to deal with blood, Rick.” He waited to see if the penny had dropped, but when it was clear it hadn’t, he rolled his eyes and shook Rick a little, to emphasise his point. “ _AIDs_ , you poof. If it gets out that I’ve even thought about shagging you, people are going to think I’m going to have AIDs. It’s a major deal. I’m not having some git telling me that I’m a risk. Not for _that_ reason at least.”

“Well that’s just fantastic, isn’t it, we can’t even be a proper couple,” Rick started to rant, then stopped, realizing what he’d just said, “I mean. If that’s - I assume - you’re not just after me for my body, right? It’s not just a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am-out-with-the-milk kind of… arrangement?”

“No Rick, nobody would ever want you for your body.”  He let Rick go, pointedly poking him in the chest for emphasis, “in fact, it’s a surprise anybody would want you for anything. Maybe I’m just the unlucky one who’s got lumbered with you.” Before he could respond with the spluttering remark forming on his tongue, Vyvyan stole it away with another semi-aggressive kiss. When he broke away, all of Rick’s rant had disappeared and he was flushed, a self-pleased smile on his face.

“Snogging in the hallway, that’s a bit anarchic, isn’t it? Imagine if Mike had been in and seen! Rebels, that’s what we are, romantics on the edge of a new adventure,” he started to babble, following as Vyvyan continued down the stairs. A pile of sad looking lentil sandwiches sat upon a plate in the middle of the table, hidden amongst the mess they’d left at breakfast. Vyvyan sat down and took a couple of sandwiches, immediately biting into them and relaxing into his seat. Rick hovered nearby, picking up a sandwich and nibbling on it excitedly as he spoke.

“We’ll have to keep it from the guys, Neil’s such a tattle tale he’d tell gossip this juicy to everyone. And Mike, well, we can’t tell him, he’d probably try to impose some tax on us and make us share a bedroom so he could use one for his ridiculous money making schemes…” he continued to think aloud about the situation for a few more minutes before Vyvyan put his sandwich down and whacked him with the broken remains of the radio. He recoiled in horror, holding the cheek that the plastic had hit. His sandwich lay in pieces on the rug, a sad casualty of the situation.

“What was that for?!” He took a step back from Vyvyan, clearly hurt and confused.

“I’m sorry Rick, it had to be done. Your voice was annoying me.” He picked up his sandwich and continued to eat, then stopped, realizing Rick was still staring at him. “What? You didn’t think I’d treat you any differently just because I agreed to stick my tongue down your throat on a more frequent basis, did you?”

“God, I hate you so much sometimes! There I was thinking maybe you’d finally become a normal human being but no, you’re just as ridiculously small minded and horrid as you always are.” Reaching over to grab a new sandwich, he slumped down into the nearest chair and started to eat in silence.  Vyvyan flicked a piece of broken radio at him, only to have him huff and turn away pointedly. A look of amusement passed Vyvyan’s face, that had anyone seen it would have been described as fond, although when Rick turned around to get a new sandwich from the pile, it transformed into his normal disgusted sneer instantly.

After devouring most of the sandwiches – and throwing one or two at each other in a childish argument about who was going to make a pot of tea (the answer was Rick, obviously; his aim with a sandwich was weak at best, and Vyvyan didn’t care whether he got it on his clothes or not) - Vyvyan suggested they put the telly on and watch Bastard Squad. Still sulking a little, Rick agreed. He cheered up immensely when Vyvyan flung his arm across the back of the sofa behind him, sitting as close as he could and playing with his plaits as they watched.

When Mike finally appeared through the front door, several hours later, he gave Vyvyan a nod, then sat down the table and waited for Neil to return and make supper. Whether he noticed Vyvyan toying with Rick’s hair, or the bite mark on Rick’s neck that had most certainly not been there the day before, was a secret only he would be able tell. Mike knew better than anyone that some questions are better left unasked; so he didn’t say anything. Sometimes, he’d learnt, living in the house, it was just safer for everyone not to know.

Neil on the other hand, had not learnt this; and therefore the explosives that he found in his bed that evening were entirely his own fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know, as you've reached the end of this chapter/the end of Aftermath - that this might not be the end. I mean, given my track record, it might be another 9 years, but... who knows. Maybe not. I might write side stories. Or what happens next. 
> 
> I'll be honest, I wrote this with the people who loved Bonds in mind, which is probably why I was so afraid of posting it - I would hate to have let them down. But it's here now. And if you want more, please just let me know you enjoyed it; because it's true what they say - comments do keep writers going.
> 
> And finally, thank you for reading! X


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